


Horcrux = Soulmate, by Tom Riddle

by TheDarkLordChaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26558575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkLordChaos/pseuds/TheDarkLordChaos
Summary: When Harry confronts the basilisk in the chamber of secrets, it isn’t what he was expecting— and there isn’t much basilisk at all; Riddle is there however, ready to take Harry’s world and watch it unravel from the roots. Harry just wanted to save Ginny; but who will save him?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own anything
> 
> AN: Each chapter can act as a oneshot; not sure if I’ll do more or not. Thanks for reading!

“You’re Harry Potter?”

“Uhm. Yes, that is me.”

Harry knelt next to Ginny, head bent up and crooked in an awkward strain to keep his gaze focused on Riddle’s. “And you’re Tom, Tom Riddle.”

Riddle smiled with a sharp composure, arms rigid at his sides like they were wooden, posture poised, and his movements were precise and explosive like a chain of chemical reactions; he brought Harry’s wand up in his hand, twirling it in perfect circles like machinery with programming, and laughed. The sound was low, but Harry heard in his mind Voldemort with his high laugh and cruel spell work, clashing with the young school boy who stood before him; he twitched from where he was in place, some instinct nagging him to dodge a curse cast quicker than sound, but Harry pushed it down as Riddle came closer, fear conflicting with confusion.

“Yes. Do you know my other name Mr. Potter?”

Riddle’s laughter was gone, face calm, a polite curiosity in the tilt of his head, professional. Harry saw red in his eyes.

Harry looked at Tom Riddle and realized. Voldemort, Harry wanted to say, but the word got lost somewhere between his throat and his chest; he couldn’t breathe, and he pushed himself back in a chaotic kick of his legs, robes catching under him to slide across the chamber floor, and still, Riddle approached. He stepped around the body of Ginny like she was a toy on the floor of his room, and Harry realized that she probably was.

“You do know don’t you. Tell me Harry. Say the name. You don’t fear it like so many others, no, you just fear me.”

Harry stared into Riddle’s eyes; Voldemort had always been a monster, never a man, but here stood the man he had been before the madness. “I’ve had bad experiences. I think it’s quite smart of me to be afraid, but you aren’t Voldemort.” 

“If I am not Voldemort why should you be afraid?”

“You’re a stranger. You could be just as dangerous, and I somehow doubt anyone who became Voldemort is sunshine and daisies.”

“Am I not Voldemort already? I am the one who made the name.”

“No. You aren’t him.”

“I may have a different face—”

“It’s not your face. It’s how you carry yourself. He knows that he has power, even when he’s weak. Voldemort knows, and has decided that instead of telling people what he is, he’ll show them, and he’ll show everyone. You know you have power, but you haven’t become it yet. You’re cautious, arrogant, but cautious. You think yourself better but you will still listen and improve yourself, even if you don’t admit you were ever wrong, to me, or yourself. You’re still young; Voldemort has allowed his accomplishments through the ages to make him reckless. He’s become predictable; are you?”

Riddle laughed again, but this time Harry saw the lines in his face, the emotion, and the rage that had been sharpened so meticulously.

“You’re an interesting child Harry Potter.”

“And you’re angry.”

Riddle placed himself in front of Harry, their noses level, and then Riddle was soft, his posture relaxed, his smile gentle and slight; Harry felt something knot up into alarm within his stomach. 

“You really are a child.” Riddle flicked the wand through Harry’s hair. “I’ve never thought children were cute, much too annoying to be so. But not you, it’s the puppy eyes, masterful.” 

Indignant, Harry scowled, unsure if the other was serious or mocking, but feeling both were equally as bad, but then there was a hand in his hair; he tried pulling back but Riddle’s hand caught his chin.

“You’re only four years older than me.”

“Four years makes you a practical baby, Harry.”

Riddle gave Harry a considering look, and then sent a spell at him; it was an annoyingly pleasant color, but also an unknown, and Harry barely dodged out of the way.

“Oh come now, you’re only making this harder on yourself. It was just a stunner.”

“I don’t want to be stunned!”

“There are worse things you could be.”

Harry dodged another one.

“Keep dodging and I might just decide to play instead.”

Backed into a pillar, Riddle caught Harry’s wrist, and Harry grabbed Riddle’s, ready to scratch the others skin until it was raw and bloody; they both stuttered in place, blood hot under their skin, and Harry’s heart skipped a beat like a school yard child skipped rope. Riddle’s eyes were vague, like his mind was absent, but then they moved to Harry’s head, fixated on the scar.

“What is this?” Harry asked, and he stared at his hands as they tingled.

“A magical artwork.”

Riddle’s response was quiet, but he touched a finger to Harry’s scar, and his stomach fluttered like a stone had been tossed into a pool. Riddle touched their heads together, and Harry sank into him, feeling heavy and drunken.

“What the hell, Riddle?” Harry slurred.

Riddle pulled back in a fast movement that left Harry disoriented, and reminded him vaguely of ripping off a bandaid; Harry shook himself and glared at the other.

“What the hell, Riddle!” Harry said again.

“We were having such a nice moment, but all good things must come to an end.” Riddle said.

Riddle trained his wand on Harry but he looked disheveled, annoyed, and terrifyingly awestruck.

“Well what was that moment?”

“Do you know what horcruxes are Harry?”

“No.”

“Mm, then let me put it this way. What’s in your scar makes us mates. Soulmates if you will.”

“Soulmates?” Harry thought he might retch.

They stood opposite each other in a silent showdown of patience; Harry knew he had been destined to lose such a challenge. He bolted. Riddle muttered something, a cold feeling chasing at Harry’s back, and he dodged, not caring to find out the effect, and then he was engulfed with something warm, and it wrapped around him like a cocoon, squeezing and almost comforting until Harry was giggling, sides attacked by the sensation of fluffy quills on skin. Harry went down, curled into himself, and Riddle tsked somewhere above him.

“I told you that if you kept dodging I’d play.”

Through the laughter Harry managed one sentence. “You said might.”

“And this is the might.”

Riddle stood there for a few minutes, and Harry laughed until it was painful enough to cry. When Riddle released the spell Harry felt himself sag, and he lay there whimpering.

“It’s alright.”

Harry was pulled into Riddle’s arms, feeling limp and tired. A kiss was pressed to his forehead.

“When you wake up, you won’t be in this uncomfortable chamber anymore.”

“Nn?” Harry asked.

“Stupefy.”

Harry slept.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom brought his horcrux dubbed soulmate home and they’re angry. Harry is angry. He isn’t forgetting the Chamber of Secrets incident anytime soon it seems.

A silhouette loomed over him, a strange mashing of smudged looking features and light absorbing clothes. Harry blinked, and the image remained unresolved.

“Good evening Harry.”

Harry stared into the smudge that he knew to be Tom Riddle and kicked; his heart fell from its place in his chest and then rose back up like he’d missed a step and he lurched forward, foot meeting the air and then the ground and his voice caught in his chest and pushed up to lodge in his throat like a spoonful of cinnamon.

“Ugh! Riddle where are my glasses?”

Harry’s glasses were waved in front of his face and he snatched them away. 

“Is that all you wanted Harry? No need to be so fussy. I was merely being polite.”

Harry raised himself up from the couch on which he’d been laid, hand going to his pocket, ready to grasp his wand, and his fist clenched the empty air; he met Riddle’s eyes. “I’ve never known kidnapping to be called polite.”

Riddle stared at him, and his pupils made his irises look hollow; his mouth curled at the corners, the ends of his lips dragging upward toward his temples as if pulled by strings, a peak of teeth shining through like the hide of a unicorn. He looked empty, like someone had carved him out inside, and it took Harry a few moments to realize that Riddle was giving him a smile that simply didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Kidnapped? Why darling I’ve simply borrowed you from your previous rather unfortunate situation.”

Harry jerked forward, teeth bared like claws, something animalistic coating his bones like melted chocolate, and he lunged toward Riddle, arms outstretched, and Riddle knocked them aside like they were leaves in weak wind.

“You killed Ginny.”

“How sweet. She knew what she was doing. She was a big girl. 11 whole years under her belt, it was her own fault.” Riddle’s eyes never left Harry’s.

Harry snarled like a lion had possessed his body, and behind him the couch burst in a strange puff of fabric and stuffing, legs clattering to lay against the wall like snapped twigs, springs clanging like cats pawing at doors stoppers. “Don’t blame anyone but yourself. You manipulated the situation, and you manipulated her.”

“I took advantage of opportunity.”

“You took advantage of an innocent child.”

“I made use, out of something useless.”

Harry hissed out until he had no air left to breath. “Someone.”

Riddle gave him the same empty smile. “As you say.”

“You’re a sociopath.”

“Why do people always say that as an insult? And for the record, I lean toward psychopath on the spectrum for some things I would say.”

Harry sneered, fists clenching and unclenching, eyes on Riddle’s neck like he wanted to reach out and squeeze. “Get that often do you?”

Riddle continued to stare. “Sometimes.”

Harry grimaced and then looked away from his gaze. “Don’t you ever blink?”

Riddle smiled again, slower, and smug. “Sometimes. Why? Does it bother you Harry? Does staring bother you?” 

Riddle’s finger cut through the top layer of Harry’s hair, a presence Harry could feel even without actual contact with the other’s skin. 

“Don’t touch me.”

A hand, cool and calloused grasped his chin, and the world rolled in strange slow motioned jolts like they were coins frozen mid toss, and the tingling sensation raced up his body like sparklers were lit under his skin. 

Riddle whispered, dragging Harry closer to speak into his ear. “I do what I want.”

“No. You don’t!”

The air flipped over on itself like an abandoned blanket as Harry released a roar, and then they were both tumbling, held up for a moment by Riddle’s taller legs until Harry’s weight threw them onto the floor. Riddle stared up at him.

“You’re angry?”

Harry screamed into Riddle’s face like he was a cavern that would return an echo. “Yes I’m angry! You killed Ginny! You kidnapped me! You’re Voldemort! You’re a murderer!”

Riddle touched a hand to Harry’s face and it took all he had to ignore it in favor of ripping off a sliver of Riddle’s skin with his teeth. Riddle pulled back with a surprised look and then looked back at Harry, amusement returning to his features.

“Are you going to murder me Harry? Murder the murderer for justice?”

Harry snarled again. “No. Because I’m not like you.” Harry punched him.

Riddle’s nose ran bloody and then he smiled with full teeth as the red ran down to stain them. “No, you’re just better is all: Dumbledore’s pet.”

“I’m no one’s pet!”

Riddle rolled them over and pressed Harry down until the arch of his back was touching the floor; blood pooled at the tip of Riddle’s lips and fell like thick rain onto Harry’s, and he strained against the grip. Riddle’s eyes on Harry’s felt like slow-gained blunt force trauma, and the other smirked.

“Not yet.”


End file.
